He crossed to the door and said something to a servant in the hall.
In a few moments Finette made her appearance among them, and the door was again shut and locked.
“Oh, miladi, are you ill again?” cried the deceitful French woman, pretending the liveliest anxiety.
She went eagerly forward to Mrs. de Vere, and a swift, telegraphic glance passed between the two unnoticed by the others.
“No, Finette, I am not ill. It is worse—far worse! My honor is assailed! We are charged—you and I—with being the parties who abducted that child from Verelands a week ago!”
“Oh, miladi!” recoiling in amazement.
“Do you not understand, Finette? My husband employed a detective to find the child. He succeeded in doing so, and now declares that you were the abductor, and that you were doing my bidding. Speak, Finette; tell our accusers that we are innocent.”
Her burning hazel eyes seemed to shoot red lights of indignation and fury, and clever Finette caught the clew at once.
“Oh, my mistress! who has dared accuse you?” she exclaimed, calculating rapidly that if she cleared her mistress from this charge, unlimited opportunities of blackmail lay before her in the future. She assumed an appearance of virtuous indignation, and went on: “I will confess all, miladi! I took the child away, indeed, but I swear it was not done at your bidding. You suspected nothing; but Finette, in her devotion to her mistress, took on herself the responsibility of the abduction. Alas! it has failed, and I am désolé. You will never forgive me—you will drive me from you!”
“Yes, Finette, I will send you away to-morrow. Your sin is too great for me to pardon. Oh! how could you think to please me by so vile a deed?” Camille exclaimed, angrily.